


every time i sit around i find i'm shot

by littleblacksubmarine



Series: love it if we made it [2]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Professors, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Biting, Choking, Dom/sub, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Praise Kink, Scars, Slapping, Someone Help Will Graham
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-22
Updated: 2021-01-23
Packaged: 2021-03-14 12:09:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28920348
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littleblacksubmarine/pseuds/littleblacksubmarine
Summary: After the events of Hannibal Lecter’s trial, Frederick and Will continue to teach, learn each other, and rebuild a life, but anything that sounds easy is probably too good to be true.
Relationships: Dr. Frederick Chilton/Will Graham
Series: love it if we made it [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2121153
Comments: 3
Kudos: 13





	every time i sit around i find i'm shot

It had been an unspoken process that happened in the gradual trickling of a full year – Frederick’s possessions seeping over into Will’s house, a little bit at a time, until one day he entered his apartment to find it nearly bare of anything helpful, practical, or even sentimental. He supposed his home was no longer _home_ , that concept having traveled an hour across state lines into a nest of flannels and dog hair.

His lease hadn’t lasted much longer. If any true crime blogs had noticed, they were bored enough not to remark upon his final exit from Baltimore – a chapter in a book he never thought he’d actually close.

The year had passed with quiet efficiency, having the decency to allow both Frederick and Will the space to breathe after the trial. If Hannibal was going to appeal his verdict – a vain hope – he’d at least had the decency to wait until his name had fully faded from the mainstream media’s headlines, though it never would from the underbelly of Tattlecrime and its wretched comment sections.

It was certainly quiet, most notably in the early morning hours, and Frederick’s second year of teaching graduate courses was due to begin in two weeks. Will had decided, in turn, to increase the number of sections of Introduction to Criminal Justice he’d planned to teach, perhaps in hopes of keeping up with Frederick, though it was hardly necessary.

The past academic year had not been a quiet one for Frederick – his lectures had been more challenging in a way he’d welcomed, with the fraternity brothers and party girls weeded out from his undergraduate frustrations. The questions were more challenging, and the discussions more varied and sometimes controversial. His class had debated psychopathy for almost a full hour one evening in January, leaving him feeling restless and vaguely queasy by its end. To his students’ credit, they hadn’t seemed to feel guilty discussing the topic in front of him, and he was grateful for that at least.

When he’d arrived in Wolf Trap in the night hours – well after Will had eaten his own small dinner – his body had felt heavy with fatigue, and Will had tentatively reached out and kneaded his shoulders comfortingly as he picked at big leaves of arugula. He’d once balked at the idea of himself ever having someone to literally _come home to_ and wondered why he’d not allowed himself the comfort sooner. It was hard to fit with someone else when your edges were sharp and cutting, he supposed, and he’d walked through a hell of some of his own making and found Will similarly hard-forged on the other side.

“I love you,” Will had told him quietly, against the shell of his ear right before Frederick rose to rinse his plate. He still didn’t always say it easily, so when he did, it stuck. He’d repeated it when they laid down to bed mere hours later, sleepily mumbling _I love you_ as Frederick fleetingly rubbed his cheek in Will’s hair.

It was strange, certainly, but they’d given up trying to fight it off or stomp down upon _it_ when they trial had ended and _it_ had first resurfaced on a humid August morning.

And here on _this_ August morning, Frederick felt a world away from the Frederick Chilton who’d hid behind a post in the student union store when he thought he’d seen Will Graham in the checkout line.

They’d eaten an early breakfast and adjourned back to the bedroom for a nap. It had been an up and down night.

As much as Frederick had seemed to find his footing after the trial, there were times Will floundered. He woke up at least one night a week, soaked with sweat and startling Frederick out of his own slumber with the sound of hoarse, desperate cries. He was always ashamed when it happened, though he seldom spoke of it in the morning. Frederick could easily acknowledge that they were both frustrated by it, himself mostly because Will seemed helpless to acknowledge the dark teeth that still gnawed on his bones.

The nap passed thankfully without incident, and he rolled onto his side, staring at the way Will’s face had relaxed in sleep. He looked younger this way, though his stubble had begun to have at least slight smatterings of a gray hair or two here and there. The way they mirrored his own made him feel a little less defeated. The clock read just a few minutes past noon, and Frederick groaned a little, remembering he needed to go to campus in a few hours to pick up a copy of the new textbook he’d grudgingly agreed to teach an elective from at the last minute. Will had agreed to accompany him for the drive, trying to push himself out of the reclusive comfort zone he was still trying to chip away at.

As though he could tell he was being watched, Will’s eyes fluttered open before flickering over to the clock.

“You should have woken me up,” he said, his voice rough with sleep.

“It would have been a shame to bother you,” Frederick admitted, resting his chin on Will’s shoulder for a moment. “You looked very peaceful.”

Will gave a tired, dismissive laugh, but ran a few fingers through Frederick’s hair. “You’ve gotten so sentimental,” he said, sleepily chuckling.

“And you haven’t,” Frederick chided rhetorically. “Still going in with me today?”

“Sure.” Will stretched, wincing a little as his back gave a pronounced crack before he went back to stillness and quietness. He regarded Frederick with a long look, face suddenly gone serious as a stone in a way that made Frederick feel slightly uneasy. He wasn’t sure he had the energy for one of Will’s morose, stormy moods quite so soon after he’d woken up.

“What?” he asked hesitantly.

“I don’t know. I’m glad you’re still here.” Will paused, a slow, creeping smile crawling across his lips. “Weird, huh?” Frederick didn’t respond, only laying a few fingertips at the sheet above Will’s waist. “It’s nice though.” He wondered if Will would ever fully accept whatever _this_ had become, ever-cautious now when it came to good things.

Frederick leaned up, brushing his lips against Will’s without agenda, but Will pulled him back in as he began to retreat away. Will sighed into Frederick’s mouth as the kiss deepened. Frederick pushed the sheet down slightly, circling the points of Will’s hipbones, exposed where his sleep pants had ridden down and his shirt up. Will was still slow to gain weight, anxiety preventing him from eating as much as he ought to, though he would never admit it. Frederick’s broad hands felt big where they held his hips in place, spanning his pale, bared skin easily.

“It’s nice,” he confirmed. Will smiled against his lips, trying to roll up into his grip.

“It would be a lot nicer if you showed some initiative,” Will said, his voice sounding only a little strained.

“A little early for _initiative_ , isn’t it?”

“It’s noon,” Will said pointedly. Frederick made a small, defeated sound of agreement, adjusting himself to grind their hips lazily together, not allowing Will to move. “Yeah.” His voice was quiet and sparse, and he gladly allowed himself to be kissed. Frederick let one hand meander up from Will’s waist, sliding under his shirt to lightly score his fingernails down Will’s torso, and to enjoy the shiver it wrung out of him. “ _Yeah,_ ” he exhaled, grasping Frederick’s wrist to try to coax him into doing it again.

Instead, Frederick gathered both of Will’s thin wrists in one broad hand, pinning them down together on the pillows below his head with a surprising deftness that had eventually come from practice. Will involuntarily bucked, briefly finding himself afraid to be held down in a way they both knew would fade sooner rather than later. He’d fully _whimpered_ the first time Frederick playfully held him down this way, clearly scared but aroused beyond belief with the crashing force of it.

“Are you going to hurt me?” Will panted, sounding hopeful, escalating the situation with an abruptness that only he could pull off. “Will you?”

Frederick rocked harder against him. “Not yet. Later,” he said lowly. He could see that Will was seconds away from protesting, having grown more comfortable in asking what he wanted after trying to keep himself restrained after what had happened between the two of them in the past to keep them separate. “When we get home, I’ll do whatever you want.” Frederick could hear the way ground glass had folded into his voice. “I’m going to make you come apart, and I’m going to fuck you so hard you can’t walk.” His own cheeks burned in embarrassment at his words, but it was nothing compared to the way that Will flushed all over.

“Oh, _god_ ,” Will said shakily. “ _Please_.”

“Not yet,” Frederick repeated. His tone was authoritative, a faint memory of the way he’d talked to difficult patients – difficult patients like Will Graham. “But later, I’m going to hurt you.”

He pushed Will’s pants down with his free hand, finding him hard and already growing slick. He took his cock roughly in hand, pumping him slowly and teasingly. Will’s hips arched up, eager for as much of the touch as he could get, greedy again. Frederick held his hands down still harder, kissing him with equal force and muffling his faint moans. He dragged the pad of his thumb across the leaking head of Will’s cock, spreading the wetness around.

It had been over a week since Will had felt rested enough to let Frederick touch him like this – caught in his own head and walking for hours on the paths in the woods behind the house. Frederick knew him well enough by now to be familiar with his _spells_ – the times when he’d retreat into a place in his mind that Frederick knew he wouldn’t be able to follow. They certainly didn’t talk about them. Frederick knew enough by now to know he could wait them out.

“You’re going to be a good boy and let me make you come all over yourself,” Frederick murmured, nipping at Will’s earlobe enough to make a slight spark of pain run down Will’s spine.

“It’s – it’s not going to take much,” Will admitted with an embarrassed laugh. “Especially if you keep talking like that.” Frederick stroked him more insistently, but just as slowly, and Will tipped his head back. His mouth had dropped open, and he let out a soft gasp. “ – wish you’d fuck me now.”

Frederick smiled against his mouth, enjoying the way that he’d already made Will inch toward desperation. “You’re so easy,” he said fondly, listening to the slick sound of his hand moving up and down Will’s length. “You always want it.” It hadn’t been true lately, not entirely, but it was nice to be reminded that he could still reduce Will to this without much effort. He’d been starved for touch in his life for so long it seemed to have grown unbearable. “Keep your hands where they are.” He released Will’s wrists, knowing Will would comply, and he did.

“Don’t be like that,” Will gasped, clearly floundering but still obeying. Frederick found himself glad that things had stayed so _alive_ over the course of how many months. “I’m close.”

It was too tempting to avoid drawing it out of Will as though by force, and he sealed their mouths together in an effort to keep Will from biting into his lips.

“If you make yourself bleed, you don’t get to come,” Frederick warned, a rule he’d tried – and failed, mostly – to set when he’d started setting down roots here. Now, he was determined. Will obeyed, to his credit, and gasped into the open air. “Good boy. Let me hear you.”

“I love you,” Will said helplessly, hooking his fingers into the pillowcase. Frederick had long since given up on questioning if it was true, deciding only to ride the wave. “Frederick, please. I want it.” He rolled his hips upward, and Frederick was kind enough not to bat him down. “I’m so close.”

“You really are desperate,” Frederick ground out, trying to ignore the insistence of his own erection. “I love you too.”

He stroked Will for long, fraught minutes, insistent on wringing Will’s peak out from him.

After a few patient – to Will’s credit – minutes, Will threw his head back, baring his throat as he came across his clothed belly. It ruined his t-shirt, and Frederick took a small, hard-won pleasure in the idea that Will would ashamedly stash it in the hamper.

“Now you,” Will exhaled, only wincing a little as Frederick continued to toy with his cock as he softened. “I want you to come too.” His voice sounded shaky, and it made Frederick rear up, pushing the shirt away to expose Will’s thin belly. Frederick pumped his cock slowly, savoring the sight of him painting Will’s stomach with his come. “Good, good.” His stomach and chest heaved as he enjoyed the warmth.

Frederick slumped a little, never tired of the evidence of the moment splashed on Will’s skin. He hooked a hand behind Will’s neck, kissing him with a newfound gentleness now that they’d both come.

“Jesus,” he exhaled. “Going to have to wash these clothes.”

“How romantic,” Will scoffed, as if he’d ever had any mind for romance. Still, he remained a puzzle to be picked apart. He leaned up, kissing Frederick with careful consideration. Romance didn’t exist – not here, at least in the traditional sense. And really, it seemed trivial to consider roses and chocolate and human remains, or however Hannibal Lecter conceived of a long-term relationship. Frederick shivered to think of it in a way he hoped was imperceptible.

“You said it first,” Frederick pointed out sharply, kissing Will with a gentleness that contrasted with his tone. “Let’s get up.”

Will groaned, stretching his arms further above his head in a way that betrayed the way that Frederick had authoritatively ordered him to keep them in a fixed place.

“Remember what you promised,” he said, casually as could be managed.

Frederick smiled, though he feigned waving a dismissive hand. “You won’t let me forget anyway,” he pointed out.

“We wouldn’t have to wait – we could just stay in bed _all_ day,” Will suggested with mock ease, a smile creasing at the corners of his eyes. He seemed looser, more pliant in the moment, but Frederick could tell it was a put on.

There were times when Will was skittish about going to campus when he wasn’t teaching, and for some reason, it appeared to be nagging at him today. He was especially reserved about going into Frederick’s neck of the woods, unsure if he was quietly being sized up by psychologists every time he set foot into that academic hall. It was a different sort of unease than the one that came from the curious minds and eyes of his students – at least _they_ could hardly be blamed for being enticed by a freakshow given the opportunity. They were paying for it.

Frederick wasn’t sure if any of the faculty were aware of the nature of just why he and Will Graham seemed to be constantly following one another around campus – if they had noticed, somehow, they had been decent enough not to mention such things. It was worth it not to frighten Will away under the scrutiny, which was so often all too easy to do. It was difficult not to soothe Will when he went into his head in front of others with a steady hand to his lower back, or a brush of fingers across his knuckles.

“I’ve been putting this off for weeks and I don’t want to go into my lecture looking like an idiot, if it’s all the same to you,” Frederick said, getting to his feet to begin getting dressed.

“What’s the class?” Will asked, stripping all the way out of his mussed clothes.

“Seminar of Personality Theory and Methodology,” Frederick said, letting a deliberately snobby cadence creep into his voice, and they both chuckled.

“Pretentious,” Will teased. “No better person to teach it, then.” His smile was fond though, catching Frederick lightly by the wrist and rubbing a slow circle over his pulse before letting go.

“I’ll make it worth your while tonight,” Frederick promised, shifting back to the previous topic of making Will _hurt_. “A nice, long drive will help give you time to get creative, won’t it?”

Will shrugged, pulling on a t-shirt and flannel and trying in vain to arrange his sleep-and-sex rumpled curls. Frederick had been nagging him to get it trimmed before the new semester began for weeks, but it had been to no avail. Will always seemed to allow himself to get shabby around the edges over the summer when he didn’t teach, and Frederick found himself unexpectedly charmed by the habit.

Comfort looked good on Will, Frederick noted as Will retreated to go let the dogs outside – _everything_ looked good on Will, but especially when he found himself feeling safe in fleeting fits and moments. 

-

It seemed like a shame to make the hour long drive out to campus simply to pick up a book, but the damn thing was notoriously difficult to find online for a reasonable price when the department would simply provide it to him at no cost. He pitied his students, knowing the high cost of a book on top of tuition had been a forcefully discussed topic in on-campus forums alongside healthy debate about whether or not it was appropriate for the bowling alley in the student union to be allowed to sell beer.

Will appeared restless in his seat as Frederick drove, looking out the window quietly. Frederick took hold of his hand for just a moment, tracing his knuckles. It was for the best sometimes if he said nothing at all.

After the mostly-silent ride, they arrived, parking a short jaunt away from the psychology department. To his own relief – and what he suspected was Will’s relief as well – the department appeared mostly deserted. He supposed the lull between the summer and fall semesters had something to do with the staggering quiet around them.

It wasn’t entirely unpleasant to be here now, especially now that his new position had given him the – long overdue, if you asked him – privilege of a new office that didn’t smell like mold. Still, they ate in Will’s tiny shoebox office during their shared days on campus, mostly out of tradition.

Will crowded in against Frederick in his office almost before he’d gotten the chance to close the door, kissing him into a surprised silence. Despite being caught off guard, Frederick allowed himself to return the kiss for a few moments before leaning away from Will.

“What’s gotten into you today?” he asked, though not unkindly.

“I’m just out of sorts,” Will confessed truthfully, though this was not his typical brand of _out of sorts_ where he would spend days retreated into solitude and moodiness. There were times it felt like Will could go days without speaking, and he probably had in the time before he and Frederick had moved in together.

“I guess so,” Frederick mused. He laid one hand at the back of Will’s neck, holding him at arm’s length and studying his face. “Just calm down. It’s all right.”

Will looked skeptical but didn’t argue. “Jesus,” he said, eyes drifting over to the glossy, brand new cover of the textbook. “You weren’t lying – that thing’s dense.”

“The syllabus looks promising, at least,” Frederick mused, sifting through a pile of pamphlets, fliers, and messages that had been deposited on his desk. They’d clearly accumulated over the course of the summer, and he’d been in and out too frequently to pay them any mind, let alone sort through them. The one on the top of the pile was for a faculty silent wellness retreat over Labor Day weekend, which Frederick tossed to the side with very little use for yoga or meditation. There were updated takeout menus for new restaurants that had sprung up in the student union, most of which he’d also have no use for.

On the bottom, there were a half dozen _while you were out_ phone message slips, and Frederick immediately raised his eyebrows. They’d all come within the last week, written in Carol’s neat penmanship – perfect for anyone in an administrative position, ever practical and kind. He’d come to appreciate her more in the last year now that he needed more help balancing a larger course load.

Still, most people called his cell phone or emailed, and he felt a sinking feeling in his chest as he sorted through the crisp pink quarter sheets.

“Someone wants to talk to you pretty badly,” Will said, coming behind him to rest his chin over Frederick’s shoulder. “Who is it?”

Frederick swallowed a lump in his throat that threatened to choke him. He held the top of the stack at arm’s length away, pinched between two fingers as though it were poised to burst into flames.

“It says, ‘Ms. Lounds,’” he said, mouth gone dry. “What could she possibly want? I send all of her emails to my junk folder.”

“I have hers on auto delete,” Will agreed. “It’s best to just ignore her.” He held Frederick closer, and Frederick was surprised by just how nonchalant he sounded about the whole thing. “I don’t even want to think about the things she’s written about me.” Sometimes Frederick resented just how easy it was for Will to avoid looking at what was said about him in the media – a complete opposite to how he felt every lingering gaze of a passerby who knew all the sordid details of his life.

He was self-conscious in a way that was nearly cloying, but Frederick could certainly understand it, knowing the feeling to a lesser degree.

“You’ve got your book, Frederick, and now we can go home,” Will continued.

Frederick sat down at his desk, pressing on the slightly dusty power button to his desktop computer.

“Humor me,” Frederick insisted. “She’s never actually _called_ me before.” Now he felt like the nervous one in the equation. Will sat down in the chair across the desk, resigned to let Frederick satiate his curiosity.

The computer seemed to load slowly out of disuse, and he finally pulled up his campus email. He inwardly drew a deep breath before opening up his junk mail folder, finding it surprisingly full. There were certainly ads for sales at Macy’s and vague phishing scams, and finally, scores of emails from Freddie Lounds. Many of them were marked as _urgent_ , which had rarely meant anything of importance to Frederick.

Still, he clicked on the topmost _urgent_ email, though it carried with it no subject line.

_Dear Dr. Chilton,_

_I hope this email finds you well, or at least still among the living since you have thus far chosen not to respond to my previous attempts to contact with you_.

Snooty. He was impressed.

_While I expect this email might meet a similar fate, I wanted to try to reach out again and try to contact you for an interview about the upcoming Netflix documentary about our friend Hannibal Lecter. I would assume that you are already aware of its existence, and would love to know your thoughts, particularly about any plans you may have to participate in its development. Has the production team contacted you yet? They are very inquisitive…_

_Please contact me at your earliest convenience if you’d be interested in a chat. Best regards, and pass them along to Will Graham as well._

“Oh my god,” Frederick said faintly, feeling like he was going to be sick in the wastebasket underneath his desk. “Oh, god.”

“Hmm?” Will asked, suddenly appearing more _out of sorts_ than he had upon arrival.

Frederick flew frantically to Google, pounding out a clumsy phrase: _Chesapeake Ripper Netflix documentary_. There were scores of articles, most from only a few days ago. Heat rose to his face, somehow wishing he or Will had deigned to watch the news or read a blog at some point in the recent past.

“What?” Will implored, looking mountingly more upset.

“They’re making a documentary about him.” Frederick’s voice was a faint mumble. “Freddie wants to know if I’m participating. They already called her.” His mouth was going more and more dry by the minute. “She asked that I give you her regards.”

“Her regards,” Will said flatly.

“Have they called you?” Frederick asked, perhaps with his imagination already running away with him after the events preceding the trial. Will shook his head mutely. “Would you tell me if they had?” Will nodded, looking down at the desk in silence. His hands were balled into fists, and his face had begun to go gray.

“I didn’t know,” he said, his voice barely audible.

“That’s not why you’ve been so skittish all day?” Frederick asked, not keen to let a sleeping dog lie just yet. Things had been too quiet lately. He’d been to comfortable.

“No,” Will said quietly, looking as though he wanted to seek into the floor. “No, it’s not.”

Frederick’s clothing suddenly felt far too small for him, just like the room. He ran his hands through his hair.

“We have to talk about things, Will,” Frederick reminded him warningly. “I don’t know what to do if you won’t talk to me.” _I know that you can’t talk to me like a normal person_ , Frederick thought to himself, feeling exasperated at the averted, kicked look on Will’s face as he remained silent. “Will.” He had already seemed to be drifting into that quiet place, that part that liked to walk in the woods, drawn into himself.

“I got a letter in the mail,” Will said finally. “From him.”

If Frederick felt that he had been on the verge of being sick before, it was nothing compared to the way he felt now. The world seemed to land with crashing, overpowering pressure down around his ears, and he wondered if the childish part of him was about to burst into frustrated, fearful tears. It was all so stupid.

“I don’t understand,” Frederick said. “Why would he send you a letter?”

“Because apparently he can’t help himself,” Will noted flatly. “I don’t know. I don’t understand how his mind works.”

“Isn’t that the whole point of what you do?” Frederick snapped before he could stop himself. Will winced like he’d been slapped, and not in the way he preferred. “What did he say?” Will didn’t respond, his gaze focused on the desk again. He still struggled with eye contact, even after Frederick trying to tease it out of him gradually over the years. “ _Well_?”

Will ran one pale hand through his hair. “He misses our sessions,” Will said simply, as though that explained everything, and really, maybe it did.

It was quiet in the room between them, and Frederick was suddenly acutely aware of just how silent campus was when there were no students on it. He partly missed them but was also glad that there was no risk of interruption.

“Do you miss them too?”

Will looked up to force himself to meet Frederick’s eyes. “Sometimes,” he said, his voice small and in pain. “But this – this is different,” he protested, and his tone was sincere. “I don’t want that life back, Frederick.” Now his voice veered toward painfully earnest. “I don’t want him to write me letters.”

“Someone in the mail room ought to be monitoring what he’s allowed to send out,” Frederick snapped. He wished for a moment that he wasn’t so detached from the hospital and could throw his weight around to make sure that no letters could ever make it to their house. It was bad enough that Hannibal knew the address from memory.

“He can be very persuasive,” Will said baldly. That much was true and always would be.

“When did you get it?”

“It came yesterday while you were at the grocery store.”

When Frederick came home last night, Will had appeared tired – drained, even, but he knew it was best to pick his battles with Will. He had been quiet at dinner, and quieter still when they had watched television. It had felt comfortable at the time and seemed silly to think so in hindsight. A strange part of Frederick now wanted to draw Will in close to him when he was quiet, and when he hurt.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Frederick asked, feeling slightly hurt and certainly panicked himself.

Will gave a soft, bitter laugh. “How exactly should I have initiated a conversation like that, Frederick?”

“’I got a letter from my cannibal ex-lover today’?” Frederick suggested. “It would’ve piqued my interest.” _You could’ve let me help you_.

This time, the laugh that came from Will was genuine, and lighter than the moment deserved.

“You’re angry.”

“I’m not angry,” Frederick objected, and found himself meaning it. “I – this is a lot of information to take in within a few minutes, isn’t it?” Will nodded, looking bemused to keep from falling apart. “We should go home.” _Home_ still sounded funny on his tongue. “I’ll make fried rice tonight. You always like fried rice.” It was true, and it made Frederick feel glad.

“I do.” Frederick smiled, rising to his feet and hoping to put the whole thing to bed for the night. Will hesitated to stand himself, clearly not put entirely back at ease by the promise of fried rice and a quiet night in. “Frederick – there was one more thing.”

The gladness softened around the bright edges and began to fade entirely. He raised his eyebrows expectantly. “Yes?”

Will paused, appearing to falter. “He asked me to send you his regards, too.”

-

Dinner had been a success – thank _god_. Will smiled at him more easily than he had since the morning and blotted at the corners of his mouth when he’d finished eating a huge portion of rice that Frederick had gracelessly spooned onto his plate. Carbohydrates would do a man like Will Graham wonders.

“Do you want to see it?” Will had asked quietly when he’d shut the front door behind him.

“No,” Frederick said after much deliberation. “No, I don’t think I do. I think it would bother me.” Will hadn’t argued, leaning in to kiss him with a surprising warmth.

They sipped at wine well into the night, the sun finally fading into the kind of black night that came along with a long day. When the sun had gone down, Will leaned fondly against Frederick on the couch, his back pressed to Frederick’s chest. Frederick let his hand drift over Will’s forehead to play with his hair. Will chuckled quietly, leaning into the touch, voice clearly tinged with wine.

“I’m sorry I was thoughtless with your feelings,” Will murmured sleepily, relaxing against Frederick’s body more and more with the warmth of the wine.

“I can’t promise I wouldn’t have done the same,” Frederick admitted. “We don’t have to talk about that now, do we?”

Instead of answering, Will turned around, brushing their lips together. “I don’t want to talk.”

Frederick returned the kiss, leaning back against the arm of the couch. Will didn’t hesitate, climbing into his lap and intensifying the kiss.

“I remember making you a promise,” Frederick said, low and huskily. “I take it you remember too.” Will nodded mutely, licking his lips. He slid a hand up from Will’s hip, wrapping it loosely around Will’s throat. He could feel the skin and muscle ripple as Will swallowed. “I like it better when you want to talk.” And it was true – he preferred it when he knew he was doing exactly what Will wanted him to. Sometimes it took more persuasion – which it appeared that it might tonight.

“Okay,” Will said quietly. “Hurt me.” Frederick tightened his grip, digging his fingers lightly into the tendons of Will’s neck. He was more than happy to leave behind bruises, knowing there’d be time for them to fade. He could feel Will fighting not to squirm, starting to get harder in his jeans.

Frederick pulled back with his other hand, slapping lightly at Will’s cheek.

“Been waiting all day, haven’t you?” Frederick asked, trying not to let any composure slip through his fingers. Will nodded, curls bobbing. “I’ll give you credit for at least being patient.”

“It’s been a long day,” Will agreed, voice slightly rough around its edges. _You said a mouthful_ , Frederick thought darkly. He slapped Will again instead of speaking it out loud, harder this time, before pulling him for a sloppy kiss. He could taste wine in Will’s mouth and chased it by licking hotly against his tongue. He fisted one hand in Will’s hair.

“You’re a fucking nuisance,” Frederick said, tipping his head back to bite a bruise where the neck of his old t-shirt had sagged. His voice was kind. He never wanted Will to forget that someone could hurt him even when they loved him and wanted to keep him safe. It was more than the world had ever given Will, and sometimes Frederick wasn’t even sure it was something Will wanted. His self-destructive streak ran deep - maybe a way to ground him in a world that didn’t seem to want him around either.

Will seemed to know he couldn’t argue with the sentiment. Frederick slid his hands up underneath Will’s shirt, dragging his nails down the vulnerable skin – an echo of the morning, but hard enough to leave redder trails. Will hissed, leaning forward to steady himself against Frederick’s shoulders with both hands. Frederick paused for a moment, hoping for a moment he hadn’t gone too far too fast but knowing he hadn’t.

“More,” Will murmured, sensing Frederick’s apprehension. Frederick indulged him, scoring his nails down harder in a slightly deviating path. “ _Yes_.” It would probably never be hard enough, Frederick reminded himself.

“Take your shirt off,” Frederick urged, wanting to see it. Will obeyed, stripping his shirt off over his head and dropping it on couch behind him. There were bright red trails running down the expanse of Will’s torso already, and he found it made him smile. “Want me to mark you up?”

“Of course,” Will replied breathily, as though it was the most obvious fact in the world.

“Brat,” Frederick accused.

“You’re the one who wanted me to talk,” Will pointed out. Frederick hit him harder.

“You’re right,” Frederick agreed. He nipped at the frail skin stretched too tight over Will’s heart. He was still too thin in a way that made the baser part of Frederick want to manhandle him. “I want to hear how much you like what I’m doing to you.” He bit at the same spot, harder now and enough to leave another bruise. “I want to see it all over you tomorrow.” Wine made his tongue move more easily when he spoke.

He eased himself up, pushing Will down on his back on the couch. Will adjusted himself in the cushions – saggy in the way a good, comfortable couch thankfully seemed to always be. Frederick posed himself above Will’s body, gripping at his neck but remaining distant enough to study his body. He let his other hand wander down, toying roughly with Will’s nipple with his nails. Will took in a sharp breath, rolling his hips up into Frederick’s body.

Frederick kissed him, enjoying the way Will fought to catch his breath. Will moaned, trying to shift his weight as though not wanting to be too insistent. Frederick’s tongue moved against Will’s, enjoying the way he tasted like dinner and wine and _Will_ in a way that was eating him up inside. There were already marks blooming all over Will’s body as he kissed down his shoulder, mouthing at the spot where the blade had gone cleanly through his body.

He traced the scar at Will’s shoulder many nights as he fell asleep, feeling assured by the way he wasn’t the only one who had been disfigured. It had happened so fast he barely remembered it happening at all, Will told him, even though it had been enough to leave scars on both his front and back with its brutality. Frederick wished he could’ve said the same for his own scar. He tried not to think about it, drawing upon the pain Will had been given that Frederick knew he could survive.

Next, he played with the buckle of Will’s belt. Will strained upward, knowing what awaited him when Frederick finally touched him.

“Should I let you have it?” he implored.

“I’ve been trying to be good,” Will said helplessly, clearly unsure how to answer the question with the memory of his earlier transgressions in the back of his mind.

“You _are_ good,” Frederick replied. “Unless you want to hear that you’ve been bad.” Will nodded, unable to find the words to ask for it. “You try to be good. You really do.” There was an implication of a _but_ there, and he was glad that he was able to find it within himself to lay it into his words. Will nodded again in agreement. “Sometimes I like it when you’re bad,” he confessed.

“Show me,” Will urged, and Frederick hit him again.

“More space in the bedroom.” He released Will, clamoring clumsily up to his feet. “Come on.” Will obeyed, following him upstairs.

Will laid down on the bed, making no move to take his pants off until he was instructed to do so. It was perfect, and he stretched his arms above his head to expose the rest of the long, lean lines of his body. Frederick stood in the doorway, watching the light of the moon spread across Will’s body.

“You can touch yourself,” he offered. Will complied, rubbing himself through his jeans and gasping at the touch of his hand to the waistband of his jeans. “You can touch yourself more than that,” Frederick coaxed, though he appreciated the hesitation. Will’s hands flew to his belt, undoing it and tearing it out of its loops before casting it aside on the floor. He smiled, watching Will wrap his hand around his cock, beginning to pump himself tentatively. “Good boy.”

“Do you like watching me?” Will asked, sounding out of breath. _You know I do_ , Frederick thought, but didn’t dare drop his façade.

“I like seeing what a slut you are,” Frederick told him. Will moaned desperately at his words, cheeks pinkening. “You can’t keep your hands off yourself.” Frederick palmed at his own cock through his pants. “You love anything I decide to let you have.” Will nodded, stroking his cock faster. “You love it when I take what I want.”

Again, Will nodded, spreading his legs wantonly and kicking his pants down around his ankles, trying to get them off entirely. He took in a shaky breath.

“Can I suck your cock?” Will rasped, wanting to be even better than _good_. “Please.”

It occurred to Frederick that he was still fully clothed while Will was mostly naked, and he enjoyed the feeling of power it gave him. He let his eyes rake over Will’s body, cock red and hard in his hand, chest already bruising and heaving with his attempts to breathe. The thought of Will’s mouth on him was almost too good to be true, and he leisurely stripped his own clothes off to make Will wait for him.

He joined Will on the bed, remaining reared up on his knees beside Will, stroking his cock near Will’s face.

“Will you do it rough?” Will asked, voice gravely with anticipation. He rolled onto his stomach, brining himself up on all fours.

Frederick knotted a hand in Will’s hair, pulling him with the roughness that Will had asked for. The quickness of the motion appeared to catch him off guard, and he immediately sputtered around Frederick’s cock in his mouth. Frederick wondered if he ought to feel guilty for the sharp punch of heat it set in his belly. Will’s mouth was hot around him, and he adjusted quickly to the intrusion, bobbing his head.

“Jesus Christ, Will,” Frederick breathed, thrusting his hips shallowly, looking for more of the wet slide of Will’s tongue up and down the underside of his cock. He was already growing sloppy, and it was _perfect_. Frederick let out a low, contended growl, pulling still harder at Will’s hair and making him moan around his length. “Your mouth was made for this, wasn’t it?”

Will nodded, unable to speak with involuntary tears beading at the corners of his eyes. Frederick was content simply to continue slowly, roughly fucking Will’s mouth, though he knew that Will was trying to behave well enough to get even more than this. A thin, messy rivulet of saliva leaked from the corner of his mouth, and Frederick reached down to wipe it away with the pad of his thumb. He brushed the messy shock of curls off of Will’s forehead.

“Look at me,” he said, voice forceful. Will complied, looking up at him through wet eyelashes in a way that made something molten surge through his body. “You’re the perfect little whore.” Will blushed even more deeply, clearly equal measures embarrassed and excited. “I know what you really want, though.” Will moaned desperately in agreement, still sucking while forcing himself to make eye contact. “You want to get fucked.” It was plainly spoken, and Will agreed with him again with a soft, reedy whine from deep in his chest.

Neither one of them wanted to wait tonight, and he shoved Will roughly away with enough force to land him on his back in the middle of the sheets. Frederick had given up on ever trying to get Will to make the bed, finally settling on the fact that rumpled sheets were the least of their worries. Yes – he would always pick his battles with Will.

“I’m going to put you on your back so I get to see your face when I make you come.” Seeing Will in the beginning stages of falling to pieces always made him feel confident that he could make him come with a single touch if he spoke to him in just the right way. He remembered the night a few weeks ago when he’d made Will come just from a few well-practiced fingers in his ass, crying out desperately as Frederick pulled his hair and bit at his throat. “But first I want to see you play with yourself, get yourself ready for me.”

“D-do I have to?” Will asked, embarrassed but stroking himself quickly, clearly enthusiastic despite the delighted shame washing over him. The hesitation was only because it was a struggle to be seen taking himself so wantonly, and Frederick knew it was only an effort to give Will the illusion of preserving his dignity, but only to himself.

“Oh, do you not want to?” Frederick asked with mock concern. “Not so I can make you feel good the way you want me to?”

“I – I’ll do it,” Will agreed.

Frederick smiled, running his fingers through Will’s hair more gently now. Will preened under the fond touch. “Thank you for being a good boy, sweetheart.” A shy smile creased Will’s face. He could accept some tenderness right now, it seemed. “ – such a good, gorgeous boy.”

“ _Please_.”

Leaning over the edge of the bed, Frederick found the bottle of lube halfway underneath where it had been haphazardly discarded the previous week. Will had been more reserved since then, and it was nice to have him back like this – wanting and _alive_ underneath his hands. He pressed it into Will’s hands, kissing his forehead.

Will arranged himself quickly, spreading himself and hitching his legs up. He was exposed and vulnerable, and Frederick marveled over the fact that Will let Frederick see him this way. He slicked his fingers, briefly pausing when he touched the rim of his hole.

“You don’t have to be shy,” Frederick encouraged, stretching out on the bed beside him in an effort to get as comfortable as possible to watch. “Let me see.”

It was all the encouragement Will seemed to need, and he slowly eased a single finger inside of himself in an assured motion that betrayed his initial trepidation. He let out a contented, caught-off-guard sigh, clearly pleased with the feeling of it. Frederick slowly stroked himself – cock still slick with spit, trying to remain patient and not push himself past the edge just yet.

“That’s it.” Will moaned softly around the press of his teeth into his lip at the sound of the praise. “Good.” He eased his finger in and out several times, trying to prepare himself for more by teasing it out, bit by bit. “More.”

Will complied, pressing a second finger in alongside the first. Frederick kissed him hard, curling his hand back around Will’s throat again. He already looked wrecked, his lips bruised with kisses and the rough way Frederick had used his mouth, and his hair was splayed out across the pillows.

“Like this?” Will panted, hips arching off the bed as he found his prostate and rubbed lightly over it. Frederick slapped him, knowing the pain would only coax Will toward feeling even _better_. “Oh god, oh _god_.” He took in a sharp hiss, though they could both tell it wouldn’t be enough to help him catch his breath. “ _Please_.”

“You’ve barely just started,” Frederick chided.

Will made an annoyed, shaking sound of protest. “I’ve been waiting all day.” He paused, crooking his fingers harder and making a choked sound. “I thought – thought you said I had been good, and patient.” It was true, and Frederick knew he was running out of arguments. He nudged Will’s wrist with two light fingers, making him slide his fingers free. Despite his earlier embarrassment, Will made a soft noise of disappointment.

Laying back expectantly, Will lifted his hips as he watched Frederick pouring lube onto his fingers. Frederick fleetingly passed a wetted finger over Will’s hole, enjoying his responsiveness before lining their hips up. He pressed inside, so slowly that it made his breath catch in his throat. Will was still so unbearably _tight_ that it made him feel like he was burning all over.

Neither of them spoke, and Frederick distantly noted it was probably a testament to how _good_ they had gotten at reading each other. Will pulled him in deeper with an ankle bent behind his back, and Frederick took it as permission to buck his hips harder into the clutch of Will’s body. Will let out a delighted, helpless noise, pushing himself back.

Frederick picked up the pace of his thrusts, setting an easy rhythm and wringing another broken noise out of Will’s throat. Will squeezed his eyes shut, and Frederick struck his face lightly to deter him from trying to retreat away from the intimacy of eye contact. Will obeyed, eyes searching and slightly wet. Frederick crashed their lips together, getting caught up in the moment and thrusting harder.

“Yeah,” Will gritted out quietly, coming apart and reaching frantically between their bodies to stroke himself in time with the sound of their bodies colliding and slapping together. Frederick laid his hand over Will’s, encouraging him to pump himself even faster. “Yes, _yeah_.”

He bit at the curve of Will’s neck, leaving the darkest bruise yet. Will gave a broken sob, writhing to kiss Frederick desperately.

“I’m close,” Frederick admitted. Will made a shaky sound of agreement, and Frederick could see his thighs shaking beyond his control. “ – want to see you come, sweetheart.”

Will cried out, spilling all over his fist, his head thrown back and pupils blown wide. His chest and neck were splotched with bruises, and he looked thoroughly destroyed by the force of his orgasm.

“You – now you,” Will said, oversensitive but clearly riding the way of the fact that Frederick continued to fuck him hard. “I don’t want you to stop – just want you to feel good,” he explained, though it wasn’t necessary. He hadn’t stopped toying with his cock, not having yet softened. Frederick offered a rough, sputtering groan, finally coming where he was still buried inside the clenched heat of Will’s body.

He rolled away immediately simply to ease the strain of his muscles, and Will chased him immediately, curling against his body. Will did not often cuddle, nor was he always desperate to continue their affection after the fact, but tonight he sought Frederick’s touch.

They laid together for a few quiet moments.

“I’m not angry,” Frederick finally said, running a hand down the still-hot plane of Will’s back. “I’m not angry at you.” Will nodded, his disheveled hair brushing against the underside of Frederick’s jaw. “I’m just tired.” There was a loaded implication in the word _tired_ – the tiredness that came from fractured years that had continued to plague the two of them even after the trial had disappeared off the front pages. “I just want us to be left alone.”

“I don’t think that will happen,” Will said mildly, and slowly enough to try to catch his breath.

“It would be nice, though.” Frederick’s voice sounded maudlin in a way that made him feel childish. “Let me clean you up?”

“That would be nice too,” Will said, smiling at him as he rested his chin on the meat of Frederick’s pectoral muscle. He paused. “Thank you.” There was a loaded implication in the _thank you_ as well.

“Of course.” Frederick got to his feet, heading for the bathroom. “I love you, Will,” he said, hoping it was a small comfort.

“I love you too.”

Frederick turned the tap on, running warm water over a washrag and wringing out the excess water. He filled a drinking glass with cold water for Will too after draining one himself.

When he returned to the bedroom, Will had already fallen asleep. Frederick blotted their cooling come off of Will, and Will made a quiet, sleepy noise but no further motion to stir.

Something was biting at Frederick’s nerves, something he had tried to stomp down underfoot for the remainder of the day, but he could no longer ignore. He left his spot on the bed, padding back to the bathroom to unceremoniously drop the wet rag into the sink with an unappealing _splat_. Upon his return to the bedroom, he rounded the bed to Will’s side of it.

Will remained asleep, tired out from the events of the evening and especially the events of the day. The depth of his slumber reassured Frederick, and he bent at the waist, taking pains to quietly open the second drawer of the bedside table.

There was a smooth, cream colored envelope laying on top of the assorted junk and misplaced items underneath it. It was addressed to Will, and Frederick recognized the unmistakable loops of the handwriting from documents that had been shown in court. _H. Lecter_ , said the return address, with eight digit identification numbers elegantly etched afterward, followed underneath by the address of the hospital.

Seeing it made Frederick want to throw up, or even yell, but he hoped he could hold back from either so he wouldn’t wake Will. He assumed Will would be displeased with him for snooping.

His fingers shook as he lifted the flap on the envelope. Will had clearly taken pains not to shred the top of it.

 _My Dearest William_ , it began, and Frederick could bear no more. He tore the letter in half, stuffing it gracelessly back in its pretentious envelope and shoving it back in the drawer. It was only after the letter was back inside where he had found it that Frederick realized the gravity of what he would done, and the surety of Will realizing he had gone looking, and been angry.

Will stirred on the bed beside him, mumbling quietly in his sleep but not waking up.

He was unsure what to do to settle his nerves, and knew it was useless. Frederick walked downstairs, going to let the dogs out and hope that it would make him feel better. He’d grown used to them, knowing that they were as much a part of Will as his inextricable trauma had become. He would share space with both.

They wagged their tails as he let them out, enjoying the humidity as he stood on the porch. It was a nice contrast to the fact that he found himself feeling cold inside.

Frederick was afraid again.

**Author's Note:**

> Hello – thank you so much for reading! At the close of the last series, I said that I started the first chapter as a one shot without expectation or direction, and I certainly never thought it would get a sequel! I couldn’t just give these two a happy ending, though – that would be all too easy. 
> 
> The title of this story is taken from Pavement – Summer Babe (Winter Version).  
> Thank you again for reading so far!  
> If you are so inclined, you can find me on Twitter at @LBSubmarine.


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